A Day in the Life of Paris Gellar
by blank82
Summary: Paris POV. Our dear Paris is torn between two very different guys. DoyleParisJamie. And Rory and Tristin as a side thing [trory..?] set in chilton.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: not mine

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF PARIS GELLAR ( that was off the top of my head. gonna have to change it later. it's not really a day. Try a week. Or two.)

On with the story...

The teenager is a complicated being.

You have your Tristins, the gorgeous bastards at the top of the social ladder who play girls like little wind up toys.

You have your Summers, who are basically the female equivalent to the Tristins. Plus the boob jobs of course. And the fake bake. And the nose job. And the lipo. And another nose job because the first one didn't go with the newly injected fat lips.

There are the Doyles, whose pants always seem to have a tendency to hike up to their armpits and never reach their ankles, proudly displaying their painfully mismatching socks.

And then you have your Marys, the goody virgins with their easy 4.0 grade average and untainted reputations. Of course, we don't have a lot of those around here, but with that damn Tristin running around barely able to keep his pants zipped, who can blame us?

Speaking of Tristin…

"Come on Mary, why not?" Here he comes now. Right on time too.

"Oh Tristin, school is only so long. Not nearly enough time to list off all the reasons why I would never, I repeat, NEVER, even if the fate of the human race depended on it, go out with you."

Ouch. There's only one girl in the entire world that could blow off the almighty Tristin DuGrey off his high horse like that,

Rory Gilmore. One of Chilton's last surviving Marys. If perfection is a sin, then Rory Gilmore's going to hell. And you know what? While she's down there, she'll charm the hell out of the devil and turn the whole place, burning pits and all, into a freaking convent. With nuns. And candles. Non flammable Candles. Do those even exist? Well that's how saintly she is.

"Mary," Tristin tried again, leaning himself against the lockers and looking very much like the poster boy for prep school The guy should model for Abercrombie. He spends most his time without a shirt on anyway. Have you ever noticed the Abercrombie models never wear shirts? Could someone explain that to me please? You model clothes but you don't wear SHIRTS? Anyways, as our inconceivably dense Tristin was saying, "I don't think you know how this works, you can't turn me down."

"Bite me," she growled, obviously flexed, flinging her locker shut.

"My pleasure."

"You do and I'm sure DEAN will be more than happy to break your sorry little butt."

"Oh you couldn't do that, how will we be able to have kids together then?"

"Sorry to intrude on your plans for our future, but having kids with you would actually have to involve us touching."

"Just name the time and place Mary."

"You're hopeless!"

"Hopelessly in love, babe."

Rory looked about ready to rip his head off.

I stepped in, "Sorry to interrupt your little love fest, but Rory, will you come with me for a second? I need to review the notes for Remmey's class with you."

Wow did I just do someone a favor? Damn it Gellar, you're getting soft.

Rory looked about ready to kiss me, "Thank you! I was dying back there!"

"Don't get your hopes up, I did it because Tristin DuGrey is mine. The day you go out with him will be the day you receive your death with."

"Paris, the day I got out with Tristin DuGrey will be the day pigs fly, the acropolyse arrives, Paris Hilton wears a turtle neck, Motley Crue goes to church—

"Fine. Just make sure you know what's mine."

"Relax. I don't want Tristin. By all means, take him. Please. One more dirty pickup line involving the backseat of his Porsche and I swear, my head will chemically combust and burst into flames in the middle of the hall."

With that grotesque statement, she checked her watch and her eyes widened, "Holy crap I'm late!" And sprinted off sooner then you can say, "For what?"

So here I am. Alone in the hallways. Alooooone… in the haaaaaaaaallways.

Oh dear god I'm singing. Why am I singing? Singing in my head, but nevertheless I'm singing. I never sing. Unless it's 'Hail to the Chief', then I hum along. But even then it's reserved specially for CSpan hours. Damn I really—

"GELLAR!"

Save us all. Tell me it's not—

"Doyle," I greet, not bothering to mask my distain. But then again, when do I ever?

"About your article."

"Yes?"

"It was trash."

My jaw drops.

HOW DARE HE!

"How dare you! My article is—

"Trash. Your conclusion was completely besides the point, your topic was left completely under researched judging by the overdose of feminist opinions on your part," OH NO HE DIDN'T, "and I expect a new copy on my desk by Wednesday." Oh yes he did.

I literally felt my blood pounding in my skull.

"Listen to me you little half pint hypocritical buttface," I growl.

"I'm sorry, buttface?"

"SHUDDUP! You are not in the position to talk right now!"

"Actually, Gellar," he sniffs, gingerly removing my hands from his neck, "I am your editor, thereby giving me every right to talk. However, it's obvious you can't handle a little constructive criticism so—

"LISTEN TO ME YOU LITTLE SLIMEBALL!" I yell, jabbing a finger at his chest.

Someone taps me on the shoulder.

"Not now Rory. Now where was I?"

"Hypocritical buttface," Doyle supplied.

"Thank you. Now who the hell do you think you are insulting my article!"

"Your editor."

"DON'T SPEAK I'M TALKING! One more word from you and I'll cut out your bowels and stuff them in your mouth while mail-order Egyptian scorpians slowly eat away at your—

Another tap on my shoulder. "Damn it Rory just wait one-- you're not Rory."

Unless Rory sprouted 3 inches, bulked up, dyed her eyeballs brown, and got a gender change through the past five minutes.

"No, I'm Jamie," he grins, extending his hand for me to shake.

"Cut the pleasantries, is there a REASON you chose to disrupt me at this crucial time?"

He looks bewildered, "Well I—

"You couldn't just wait ONE MINUTE! Most people have the decency not to interrupt a person when they're discussing an article! What makes you so special huh! Is your daddy a big corporate billionaire? Or are you just STUPID! Is it brain damage? ANSWER ME!"

Yes, I admit I was a tiny bit harsh. Just a tiny bit. But it can't be why he looks like the Grim Reaper's after him. Really, it can't.

"I just, um, was—

Before he could finish that thought, Rory and Tristin come bustling down the hall. Bickering, of course.

"NO!"

"Mary," Tristin responded, sounding slightly annoyed, "you need a ride. And I just happen to own-- what's that big hunk of shiny metal with wheels called again…oh yeah, a ride."

"Glad you know what a car is."

"Jeez just let me take you home."

Rory threw him a dirty look over her shoulder, "Let me rephrase that, NO WAY in hell would I ever get in a car with you. Even if acidic rain was falling from the sky and the only source of protection, god forbid, was the roof of your big shiny Porsche, I STILL wouldn't get in a car with you!"

"Hey I'm doing you a favor here."

"You idiot!" she stopped her powerwalking to whack him on the side of the head, "The only goddamn reason I missed my bus in the first place was because YOU decided it'd be fun to pull me into the janitor's closet pretending to be God!"

"you have to admit I had you fooled for a second. Especially the part where I removed my pants and threatened to send you to hell if you didn't—

"Goodbye Tristin!" she growled, starting off.

Tristin cursed under his breath as he trailed after her, "Mary, I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you."

"No."

"Come on."

"No."

"I've got coffee in the car."

She stopped abruptly, causing Tristin to almost crash into her, "Coffee?"

Ooo… good going boy.

"Imported straight from Europe," he replied, with self assured smirk fixed to his face.

You practically see her head working as she bit her lip, "Extra black?"

"Like the sea. Which reminds me I need a tutor in Geography…"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

So as quick as they came, they left, arguing the whole way to the parking lot.

"Talk about love hate relationship," Jamie commented.

"Yeah well, she loves to hate him, he hates to love her, it's a never-ending cycle," I reply, noticing for the first time what a nice body Jamie had. AHH! NO! Superficiality bad! Damn hormones.

He grins at me. Shoot. He noticed my staring, "Wanna talk about it while I give you a ride?"

Okay stop there. Did he just offer me a ride? Holy crap it's a red flag day.

"Yes!" If I were to look back on this moment, I would surely wince at the pathetic giddy grin on my face. But to hell with it, I'm 18, surely I'm entitled to have a few moments of teen normalcy.

He point to my convertible on the way out, "Is that your car?"

"The one with Barbara Streisand's face painted on it? Yes. But it'll still be here in the morning."

His car is black. A little feminine if you ask me, but it could be a maggot infested rat hole for all that I care, because I'm getting a ride.

I smoothed my skirt for the 50th time and cringed inwardly at his music choice. I guess it could be forgiven that he enjoys littering his brain with Cher & Sonny.

My eyes landed on a Rory and Tristin. In his Porsche. Ooo… entertainment.

"OW!" Tristin yelped, "What was that for!"

"Don't think I didn't see that! Just because I'm busy indulging my lifeblood here does not mean you can take advantage of the situation and feel me up! Sit on your hands!"

"No can do. I need them to drive. Not to mention touch—

"You finish that sentence I will pour this hot, scalding coffee all over your head!"

"—you all over - AHH! HOT!"

"I warned you!"

Jamie shook his head as he watched the two, "DuGrey," he muttered grinning, while starting the engine.

I looked at him, grining stupidly. AHH! NO! STOP GRINNING PARIS! STOP IT! STOP IT! Okay stopped. You're fine now. Fine, fine, fine—

"Are you okay? You look kind of… flustered?"

Am I okay? Well excusing the painful pounding in my skull and the horrible flopping of my stomach organs and the curious twitching of my left eyes and the spastic attack on my legs, I'm okay. Does getting in a car with the opposite sex usually this unnerving or am I just hormonally imbalanced?

"I'm fine. Haha," I giggled and mentally smacked myself. GIGGLED! Okay, that's it. First thing tomorrow I'm telling nanny to schedule an appointment with my therapist.

The silence was disturbing. Like one of those moments where you're talking really loud about your strawberry underwear and all of a sudden you realize the whole room is quiet. kind of like that.

And the entire time I was racking my brain for a conversation starter. What didn't I prepare flashcards for situations like this?

Oh duh. I never though any member of the opposite gender much less an attractive one would ever, ever even remotely consider offering me a ride home.

"So…" I began, "What's your take on abortion? Are you pro? Are you con? Are you neutral? Should the women decide? Should the choice be declared by men? Are you opposed to feminism? Do you encourage the suckage of a human being through a tube from the uterus?"

Uh oh. He looks scared again. Damn it. This is going to be one long ride…


	2. Chapter 2

**(AN: thanks for the compliments. And the advice. Very very good advice. I'm talking Dear Abby worthy. Anyways, thank you.)**

… and yet I have a date. I, Paris Gellar, have a date. A definite sign of decrease in the standards of human society. Next thing you know they'll be letting goats in the supreme court. Although some people in there already have the intelligence equivalent to a herd of cows on slaughterhouse day. But that's not the point.

I have a date. Wow, that feels good to say.

I have a date I have a date IhaveadateIhaveadate—

"I have a date," I said out loud. Several people turned around in their chairs to look at me like I'd grown an extra head. But I didn't care. You know why?

_I have a date_.

By golly, I have a date— and I'm insane, dear god I'm starting to say by golly in my head. Arghh… damnit damnit damnit...

Oh no. I'm starting to break out into hives. Now would be a good time to go to the bathroom.

"Okay Paris," I muttered to myself, once inside the bathroom, "now just because you have a date this an extremely attractive… male specimen under 72…who's vocabulary consists of more than a mere eight words…" Ah! Focus Paris, "does not make it liable for your intelligence level to drop below that of a thermos."

"You're right. It should be a heating pad, at least."

I let out this sort of mangled yell.And as scenerios involving bathroom massecres and hooded men carrying blunt hedge clippers ran through my head, I find myself face to face with--

"Gilmore! Holy crapmake some noise."

Rory smiled, "So I hear our Paris here has a date? Is this the same Paris that organized a revolt two days before the Sadies Hawkins Dance? Which, might I add, was made up of kidnapping all female counterparts and handing them '50 and still single' brochures complete with 'men are slime' bumper stickers."

"Actually, they were posters. 12 by 12."

"Inches?"

"Feet."

"Good god you've sure come a long way."

A different voice sounded behind me, "Paris."

Letting out a very unflattering yelp simliar to the noise of that of a cat dying, I turned around, "Why does everyone insist on sneaking up on me? Do I have 'Hi I'm Acousticophobic' written on my forehead! And you're in the girl's bathroom Doyle."

Rory quirked an eyebrow, "Doyle?"

I glared, "Quick question, is there something you're not telling us or did you not see the sign that says 'Ladies Room' in big letters on the door?"

"No actually, the toilet paper in the men's room gives me rashes."

Rory grimaced, "Oookay. A little too much bonding here. I'll see you later Paris."

Doyle was looking at me all funny, "So… you and… Jamie?"

"Yes. I have a date. With Jamie. I have a date with Jamie. Wow, that feels good. You should try saying that. Only not with Jamie. Only I'm allowed to say Jamie. Otherwise it'd be weird. Unless you want to be with Jamie, then it's not our dating lives we'll be discussing, it's your funeral arrangements. Personally, I recommend the spot by the--

"Paris, Jamie is going to have sex with you."

...So?

"So?"

He looked startled,"So…"

"It's inevitable to have sex in some point during your relationship, isn't it? Unless you're Louise, then there's no relationship matter to discuss. It's more animalistic instincts combined with a Wham Bam thank you Ma'am in the principal's coat closet."

Doyle furrowed his eyebrows, an action that drew unneeded attention to the zit in the centered smack dab in the middle of his forehead, "It's just that I overheard him talking about—

"About? About? Well don't leave me hanging!"

"I didn't. You interrupted—

"Oh god he's cheating on me isn't he! That little—

"No! No I can assure you there's no cheatage," he added quickly, "That I know of."

"Then what?"

"Never mind. Just be careful."

"Oh sure. That helps a whole lot."

Unfortunately the conversation was cut short by shrill cry of the bathroom lady when she saw Doyle. I forgot to tell you she has Androphobia. The fear of men. That's partly why she works in the girl's bathroom.

Come to think of it, her Androphobia started when a guy offered her a ride home one day. And asked her out.

I'm starting to see a pattern.


	3. Chapter 3

**Yeah I haven't updated in a while. Very traumatic story, you see one day my keyboard stopped working, I tried everything I could think of starting with sitting there stupidly tapping at that keys thinking the words would reappear a few minutes later, to smashing the keys with the palms of my hands, to pressing random buttons on the computer-rectiangularish prism thing with where all the circular button things are. Which didn't work so good considering the whole freaking computer screen went blank. And one day I was turning on the computer and saw the words 'Keyboard unplugged' flash on the screen in one of the rows of random numbers and stuff. So from there I concluded, 'Aha, the keyboards unplugged' and climbed under the desk to replug the computer, nearly endangering my life but anyways, long story short the keyboard's now plugged and I'm never going near anything with confusing plugs and wires sticking out of it ever again. Ever. Everevereverever. Anyhow, the story's here.**

Guess where I am?

Rory Gilmore's front lawn.

Very nice clean lawn it is. And as I'm lying here with a facefull of it in my mouth, I've never been for thankful for that fact.

"Rory?" a faint voice in the background, drifting through my head, "Do I need to have my sanity checked or is Paris lying on our lawn?"

"Both." Rory's voice this time.

Ooo… migraine… big, big migraine…. Matthew-McConahey-playing-bongos-in-my-skull-type, big migraine…

As Rory and her mother argued a while over whether or not insane clincs and green rooms are really actually green inside, I attempted to figure out how the hell I ended up here, on Rory Gilmore's front lawn. Might as well have tried to chop vegetables in my sleep. My memory was completely stringy.

I tried to lift my head, taking in the lovely… yet vaguely disturbing crunchiness of the lawn. Clean as it is, I don't think grass is supposed to crunch.

"She's drunk." Lorelai again.

"She is not drunk!" Rory.

"Hey I know a drunkie when I see one, and sorry to say so, but Sergeant Sarah Brown here is drunk."

"But Paris doesn't get drunk."

"Sweetie, when you're passed out facedown on a stranger's front lawn and doing nothing about your Jimmy Choos lying miserably in the middle of the street, it means you're either Courtney Love, or drunk."

"But Courtney Love is drunk."

"My point is proven."

After that everything went kind of black. At first I thought I was dead. Which sucked because my whole life didn't even flash before my eyes like it's supposed to when you die. But I woke up a while later. With a Weird Al disco ball hanging over my head

Evil Al.

Ow… migraine, migraine.

Rory and her mom were secretively poking their heads in. Thinking they were being cunning. But of course, I could hear every word they were saying.

"Is she awake?"

"Of course. I fed her coffee."

"You mean you forced her jaw open and spilled coffee all over her face."

"Minor detail. Either way the elixir of life is working the magic."

My memory was coming back at least. In bits and pieces and pieces and bits.

Jamie. I remember Jamie. His house. His really ugly house. But I didn't say anything insulting. Not even when he showed me that horrendous orchid wallpaper. Nope, not a word. Okay, maybe a few words. But only a few. And 'it looks like a rainbow threw up on it' hardly qualifies as insulting.

The kissing. I remember kissing. Lots of kissing…nice, nicekissing… Ah! No Paris! Focus! … Then what? Champagne. There was champagne. The weird, weird, tasting champagne.

Wait a second…

"That bastard drugged me!" I screamed suddenly, sitting up.

There was a clang as Rory and her mom dropped the coffee pot in surprise

"We give her too much?"

"Eighteen bags hardly qualifies as too much," Lorelai dismissed.

Roar. Angry. Jamie. I am going to run over and bash his head in-- Ow, ow… okay. As soon as this hangover passes, I'm running over and bashing his head in.

Or not. Because at that moment a very large very heavy circular object came crashing down on my head.

Ow…

"I told you not to put up that disco ball." Rory.

"But it's so pretty!" Lorelai.

"It's not pretty!"

"How is it not pretty?"

"Weird Al's face is plastered on the bottom."

"Hm. I never noticed that before…."

"We call it the Weird Al disco ball, how did you not notice?"

I couldn't hear anymore after that. Because for the third time that day, everything went black. And for the third time that day, my life didn't flash before my eyes. I'm going to have to call the folks who filmed American Beauty and correct them on that.

OOOOOOOOOO

The next day I couldn't find Jamie anywhere. My suspicions of foul play were confirmed however, when I found him ducking into the janitor's closet as I approached. Or rather stomped.

I grabbed his arm and slammed him against the locker, "You. Talk. Now."

"Paris…"

"You got me drunk!"

"Yes, I know. I know, but—

"You drugged me! You _drugged_ me! _You_ drugged _me_!"

There's only so many ways to say you drugged me.

"What?" A look of bewilderment crossed his face, "I didn't… drug you. I gave you wine. Because I thought that was the romantic type of thing guys normally do… but then you started downing glass after glass and by the thirty-fourth one you were beginning to call me Adrian Cronauer and screaming lines from Good Morning Vietnam--

"So why didn't you stop me you meretricious dolt? I was intoxicating my vital stomach organs with alchoholic substances and you just stand there gawking? I am not Paris Hilton-- I don't dance on coffee tables in my states of subconscious insanity!"

"Well… you're scary---er. Scar_ier_, " he emphasized quickly when he saw my hands twitch and my eyes fall to his throat, "-when you're drunk. And you threatened to break off my fingers if I didn't hand you the wine."

I took in this information.

Drinking champagne. Lots and lots of champagne. That much I remember.

Nerves. I was nervous. I remember that too.

"_More?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Are you sure?"_

"_Just give me the bottle, bucko!"_

I winced at the memory. Okay. So I was a little tipsy. And scary. Just a little.

"But it tasted funny."

"It's champagne."

"Well then champagne tastes like crap. And the high society folks of England 1800 are making a big deal out of nothing. A thousand dollar bottle of crap is still a bottle of crap," I was calming down now. Then I began swelling up all over again, "You dumped me on Rory Gilmore's front lawn! You dumped me on her front lawn to die!"

He looked bewildered. And uneasy, "I-uh… you told me Stars Hallow was your second home."

"What? How dare you! I was in a state of delium! And I am not a hill billy!"

"Y-You… P-Paris.. I-I can't talk w-ith your h-ands around m-my neck li-ke t-that."

"I can't believe it!"

"P-Paris..? Neck… Can't breathe…"

"You manipulator!"

"P-Purple… I'm turning purple, Paris."

I let go out him, "What other late development didn't I know about?"

He gulped and rubbed his neck, "Um…"

"Well…?"

"Um, well… we, uh, had intimate, uh, of or relating to the body contact, and, uh, an interval of time having a specifed length or characterized by, um, certain condition or events involving or relating to the … uh, biological reproduction organs."

… What?

"What?"

He shifted nervously, "Wait. For it to set in. Then, come find me. Or no! No! Don't come find me. I mean, or come find me. And if you can't find me, it's not because I'm hiding from you. Nope, not at all. Not hiding from you at all. Okay got to run."

He took off.

And yes, it took a while to set in. But…

"We had sex," I finally figured it out. And screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

I had sex with Jamie. In his room. With the orchid wallpaper and his Sound of Music poster watching over us. _Oh god_, Julie Andrews watched me have sex. _Julie _freaking _Andrews_. Didn't she play a nun in that movie? A _nun_. Granted, she was an ex-nun but nevertheless that is not how I pictured my first time. In fact, if I had pictured it, it would probably have involved the end of the world arriving and the entire human existence blown to pieces as my sex life suddenly caused a huge imbalance to the human race seeing it's inconceivable for Paris Gellar to have sex, and once the impossible is possible, the entire world comes to a screeching halt. Just look what happened when Regis and Kelly split. Bam, whole world, or at least the entire ABC network, breaks into chaos.

Holy Mary Mother of God this just keeps getting worse and worse.

**Pretty weak chapter, yes. But I was trying to connect some the events together so it's not too good. Gets better in the next chapter.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay before you read the next two chapters, keep in mind I wrote them a pretty long time ago. Don't question-- my method of orderness is a little... drifty.And I was trying to connect some stuff together so they might be a little rough on the edges. Anyways, on with the story.**

Well Jamie and I are over. Rory says wallowing, Oprah suggested gratitude journals, and Tristin insisted on the 'Three Gs' as he offhandedly put it "Go out. Get high. Get laid." In which Rory had in turn smacked him on the head and told me not to listen.

Which I won't. Because hello, it's Tristin.

And Doyle asked me on a date. I'm supposed to RSVP by tomorrow. I have to keep that in mind. Stuck post it notes and 12 by 12 posters all over my house to remind me to.

TV interview today. You stand in front of a camera and blab on about the joy of Chilton schooling remaining completely calm and in control. My hives, unexpected rashes, and hyperventation will be under limitations due to a visit to my psychiatrist yesterday. He wasn't going to give me the meds at first but changed his mind after I tried to swing his thousand dollar lamp at his head.

AH! Mailman!

And with that, I kind of ran over and knocked him over. But no matter, because now in my hands. I have the letter. Which will determine. The fate of my existence.

And I'm speaking in broken segments. Okay, enough with the building tension, time to open the nice little letter from Harvard.

HAHA! HARVARD!

Dear Miss Gellar we are sorry to inform you that…

Wait what?

… we cannot accept you at this point.

I didn't… get in?

Oh god. Now would be the perfect time for Ashton Kutcher to run in and yell "YOU'VE BEEN PUNK'D! HAHAHAH!"

So far no Ashton.

For the next hour, I spent my time, sitting there, partly wondering which Wal Mart I'll be working at and partly debating whether or not I'll still be able to afford C Span after my parents kick me out of the house and refuse to pay my tuition for Clown School.

Halfway through my thinking daze however, I somehow realized I was late for that damn Chilton TV interview.

And as I dragged my sorry ass through the big Chilton gates, Rory Gilmore runs over in her pretty little dress, which reminded me that I myself looked like a mess and the nice blue suit I spent the whole day picking out before was still sitting there sadly in my room, and grabs my arm.

"Paris, where have you been? The interview starts in two minutes!"

Can't… respond... Stupid… Harvard…

"Paris?"

Harvard… Harvard…

At this point I'm seeing little elves wearing Harvard sweaters waving little Harvard banners in my face singing, 'lalala! Paris isn't in Harvard! Paris isn't in Harvard!'

Grrr…No Paris, you will be calm. Calm and composed. Yes.

At some point in my little inner monologue, Rory had dragged me behind the podium and was now blabbering away in front to camera about 'Oh Chilton's so great this, Chilton's so great that!' AHHHHHH! CHILTON CHILTON CHILTON!

"… It really is an amazing experience, everyone strives to be on top. And to the teachers here, teaching isn't just a job, it's life," Rory blabbered away, "blahblah, blahblah, blahblahblah. Paris would you like to add anything?"

Ahh… I'm seeing elves again.

"Paris?"

Elves… Elves… Harvard… Chilton.

Chilton. The whole reason why I came to this hellhole was for _Harvard_. Chilton was supposed to guide me to Harvard. And now, I'm seeing elves… _singing… dancing… mocking… haha Paris… haha…_

"You know how when you **die**, your whole life flashes before your eyes?"

Rory looks uneasy, "Um, Paris that's not part of the—

"Yeah well, that's_ exactly_ what it felt like when I opened this tiny envelope from Harvard, I repeat, I got the tiny envelope! Saying haha you had sex so now we're not excepting you!"

There are a few gasps in the crowd.

Headmaster Charleston looks like he swallowed a cow.

Oh there's plenty more where that came from, babe.

"Chilton," I laughed bitterly, "_How ironic_! I'm standing here today supposed to be talking about how amazingly _great_ Chilton is. For four year, I _slaved_ away on the Franklin, throwing myself at every _fucking_ extracurricular activity known to man!"

I don't know whether it was how I was representing Chilton that made Headmaster Charleston cry, or whether it was I dropped the F- bomb on national television on a program supposedly watched by kids ages 4 to 75. of course when you're 75, you're not exactly a kid anymore...

"Paris…" Rory attempted to calm me down.

"And you know what? I still didn't get in! You know why?" I jabbed a finger at Jamie who was in the audience looking uneasy, "Him! Him! I lost my virginity to him! I was drunk! And now that I've had sex, so god is punishing me by saying '_Oh sorry Paris, you had sex with the manwhore so now we're not letting you in!'"_

Jamie looked like he was about to bolt. Haha! I hope his parents are watching this.

"It's his fault Harvard doesn't want me now! Because, oh no, Harvard only wants goody goody virgins like her!" I point to Rory, "She's never had sex before! Nuh uh! Not once! And god knows how hard it is when you have the king of Chilton throwing himself at—

"Oookay, that's enough sugar for you!" Rory cut in quickly, grabbing my arm.

"DAMN ADAM AND EVE! DAMN TEENAGE HORMONES! D—

Rory practically hauled me offstage before I could say 'damn' again

So much for calm and composed.

**and there it is. not so good. But I was too lazy to rewrite it. Lots of Trory action is the next chapter though**


	5. Chapter 5

I'm at a party.

Let me rephrase that.

I, Paris Gellar, am at a party.

I've taken Tristin advice on the three G's. And now I'm at a party. Supposedly to 'go out, get high, and get laid.'

Of course when Rory heard, she almost died of shock. But being the good friend she is, and because I kind of threatened her with a dull butter knife, whichever you choose, she came with me.

And apparently, judging by the kid up on the roof there, letting loose means running around in the nude screaming, "WHOO HOO! BON JOVI!"

"Ugh, that's sick," Rory winced, disgusted.

"Yeah I know," I mutter, "Gosh, to think people would actually have to decency to wear clothes—

"No I meant that."

I follow her gaze to the gagging sight of Tristin DuGrey sticking his tongue down some poor girl's throat.

I tilted my head and frowned, "You know, it's a modern miracle she's still able to breath like that. Judging by the average human lung capacity and the way he's clogging up her esophagus, it's a wonder she's still alive."

Rory angled her head, "He's eating her face."

"She doesn't seem to mind."

"Like that's a first."

Tristin all of a sudden caught us staring and winked in Rory's direction (in which her received an eye roll in return) all without bothering to detach his mouth from the girl.

"God," she groaned, finally breaking her gaze from the scene, "To think he'd actually have some maturity by now, he's like Peter Pan."

Peter pan?As in the kitchen utensil?"What?"

She nodded thoughtfully, "Actually, he wouldn't be caught dead in those polyester tights. And if Tristin was Peter Pan, the whole female population in Neverland would be suffering from STDs."

"That goes without saying…"

"Ahh… poor Tiger Lily."

Tiger Lily?

"Tiger Lily?"

"You know, the little Indian princess."

I stare at her blankly, "What kind of idiot king would name their kid after a plant?"

"This comes from the girl that's named after the capital of cheese."

"Paris is not the capital of cheese!"

"You just keep telling yourself that," she says, "I still can't believe you've never watched Peter Pan."

"Disney movies are trash."

Rory stares at me as if I had just shot her cat, "You can't be serious. Cinderella is a classic!"

"If that includes tricking young girls into believing in fat fairies in need of Jenny Craig. And the little mermaid, don't get me _started_on the little mermaid. Giving little girls a bad influence, it encourages them to run around in clam bras brushing their hair with forks! It's because of the little mermaid that prostitutes exist! One day you're a cute little girl in a clam bra, the next you're a high school drop out stuffing cash inside your--"

Rory lets out a yelp and covers her ears, "Oh god! You were one sick, corrupted little girl."

"I blame Robin Hood for that."

"I'm not even gonna ask," she looked around, "Hey have you seen Dean? He said he'd meet me here. Of course he was a tad bit occupied arranging the packs of gum in alphabetical order while I was talking so he might not have heard right."

"No. You know you really need a new boyfriend, maybe a guy that's about ten feet shorter and," short… am I forgetting something? Hm, "and a little smarter, or at least capable of finishing a—Doyle!"

I see Doyle, pushed along the sea of people. It's not easy to get by when you're about a foot shorter than your surroundings.

Ah! RSVP! I forgot to RSVP! I forgot about Doyle! I glance up at the clock. Shoot shoot shoot, 10:31.

So I currently have an hour and 29 minutes to RSVP.

Uh oh. Doyle's gone.

Scrambling around the dance floor. Looking for Doyle. Not the best choice, Gellar. Within seconds I was being swept up in the crowd. No amount of my pushing, shoving, or crude swearing even so closely as affected the huge stampede of drunk asses.

And on top of all that, I lost my shoe. Uh huh.

This is starting to sound mildly familiar. At a party to meet my prince charming( or in this case, my… erm, Doyle) late late late and I lost my shoe.

Yet another reason to hate Cinderella.

AHHH! I see him!

Damn it… Paris… just squeeze… out… of this big… crowd… ARGH…

Almost there…

"Paris, will you please tell Rory that I will kiss whoever I want to?"

Ugh. Tristin.

"Paris, will you please tell Tristin that 'whoever' doesn't involve underage juniors and that daddy's money doesn't buy you out of statutory rape charges?"

Argh. Rory.

"Paris, will you please tell—

"_For the love of god will you two give it up?_ Tristin, you are an ass, you are a stupid, stupid ass! Rory, you are dumb, it's amazing how someone smarter than me could be this dumb! Dump your damn dates and hook up already! Now I would love to be involved with Tristin's every, very, _very_ active ever-revolving sex life but right now, I'm trying to reel myself a boyfriend, so if you'll excuse me, _I have to find him_!"

Silent, they were now.

There was a tap on my shoulder.

Oops. Dean. And he does not look happy, "Did you just tell my girlfriend to hook upthis blockheadhere?"

"Hahaha…_hahaha_!" I laughed in his face, "As a matter of fact, yes! Yes I did! Now shove it because I have no time for your reenactment of 'Attack of the Six Foot Freak!' Now," I shook his hand, "Have a nice day, minimum wage grocery bagger. I look forward to seeing you again in the future, next time I'm counting on you're cutting off those hideously floppy bangs and maybe untwisting that expression you have fixed on your face at the moment because that Frankenstein scowl is really not flattering for your complexion. Makes your head look—

"Paris!" Rory cut in, shooting me a desperate glance. An obvious 'get-out-of-here-now-before-my-big-bad-boyfriend-eats-you-alive--please-and-thank-you' look.

I could see what she meant. After making a mental note to enroll Dean in anger management classes and maybe hose his face down while I was at it (it was looking unnaturally red. That throbbing vein on his temple wasn't exactly helping matters), I was off on my search for Doyle again.

Well, an hour later. I was still searching. Stupid big, big house.

And as I peeked into a room, I literally felt my mouth drop to my feet.

Rory Gilmore making out with Tristin DuGrey on a piano bench.

Apparently I missed the headlines informing the acropolyse was near.

Oh damn. They'd better hope Dean doesn't see this.

Still a little dazed, I stumble around the party, too shocked to look for Doyle anymore.

Instead I feel myself collide with a familiar chest, "Oof."

"Paris."

Crap. Can this day get any worse?

"Oh sure Jamie, now's the perfect time to crash into me. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go find a hole to stick my head in now."

I spot Doyle across the room and attempt to push past Jamie's dead weight.

He wouldn't budge.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah well, it's little too late for apologies. Move."

"Paris, let me explain—

ARGH. Are all men this dim witted?

"Jamie," I say, through clenched teeth, "If you do not shove your sorry butt out of my way right this second I will remove your head and use it as a paperweight for the eulogy I'm writing for your funeral after I take off these godforsaken heels and clobber you with them."

No surprise he's gone in a heartbeat.

Now for Doyle…

There's a sudden yell and a crash from the hall.

Damn it. Interrupted again. Is the whole world just against me today!

"You asshole! Stay away from her!"

Hey I recognize that voice…

"Dean it's not what it looks like!"

Next thing I know, Tristin and Dean are tumbling from the hall, wrestling and beating each other into bloody pulps while Rory stumbles after them, tripping over her feet with her shirt half buttoned.

Uh oh.

Apparently Dean had found them.

"Damn it!" Tristin yells, as Dean socks him in the jaw, "Chill, man!"

Chill?

"Chill! I catch you eating off my girlfriend's face and you expect me to chill!"

Another punch.

"Both of you stop it!" Rory is now attempting to break up the little blood brawl. Haha good luck with that.

Dean finally stops clobbering Tristin and turns to his girlfriend.

Uh oh. If Rory has any will to live at all, she'd better run.

Turns out she doesn't have to. There you have it, Rory Gilmore, the only girl in the world that could stand there after making out with another guy with her shirt half off and still look like she belonged on top of a Christmas tree.

Dean's face softened a little when he saw her.

But only for a second.

Then it was right back to angry

"How could you do this to me!" Wow this is better than C Span! "I loved you! I loved you!"

Oookay. Scratch out angry and put in 'in need of rehab… and maybe a lay. Because knowing Rory, she didn't give him any during their two year relationship. Two years without sex could do that to a guy.'

So basically he was saying 'You wouldn't screw me but you're all over him!'

Apparently Tristin decided this was a good time to butt in with one of his ever so witty remarks, "Hey, lay off the soap operas man."

Exactly what I was thinking. Somebody's been watching a little too much Dawson's Creek. The whole Joey-Dawson thing going on? Getting old.

Dean looked about ready to strangle him. And for a second, I thought he was. But instead he did the unthinkable.

He turned around and stalked off. Which is more dramatic than it sounds judging by the fact the guy's about the size of Fuzzy Lumpkins and the whole house shakes when he walks.

Rory kind of sits down really fast and does this little whimper thing and covers her face, looking about ready to disappear, not even bothering to button her shirt

Guess no one's calling her Mary anymore.

Tristin kneels next to her and rubs her back. Which is a pretty big thing because he usually doesn't do anything sweet for a girl unless there are benefits involved and judging by Rory's reputation (or her reputation before all this, anyway) and the look on her face, she's not about to sleep with anyone anytime soon.

Not like I blame the girl.

Doyle! Ah! I completely forgot about Doyle!

Oh great, he's gone.

Thanks a lot, Tristin. And Rory. You two just couldn't keep your horomones in check for just 5 more minutes huh?

Speaking of Rory…she does look pretty miserable…

Sighing, I walk over to comfort her. Damn it I really am going soft.

I grab her arm and pull her away from Tristin who starts to protest but stops when I shoot him my death glare.

I pull her into the bathroom and force her to look at me.

To my absolute dismay, she even looks pretty when she's crying. My life is so unfair.

"Snap out of it, Gilmore."

"I'm a whore," she whimpers.

I scoff, "Yeah right."

"I cheated on my boyfriend, I'm a whore," she sniffles.

"Rory, trust me, you could show up to church in a hooker outfit, sleep with a million guys, wear that hideous Courtney Love lipstick and you still wouldn't be a whore. You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because you would never show up to church in a hooker outfit or sleep with a million guys. Nor would you ever, ever, god forbid, wear that hideous Courtney Love lipstick. Might I add if you ever do wear that lipstick, you might want to question your sanity and consider enrolling in therapy."

"Oh god, that shade of red is grotesque," She says smiling, and before I know it, she's hugging me. Much against my will, of course.

Grumbling, I mutter, "All I have to say is that kiss had better have to been good because it cost me my second boyfriend."


End file.
